Matters of the Black Heart
by InzanityFirez
Summary: Crowley, with his newly budding humanity and only Sam for company, admits the real reason he sold his soul and enlightens Sam in the process. Tag to S8x23.


**I finished the season finale yesterday. So if you don't want any spoilers whatsoever, mosey along. Otherwise, that little fade to black they did in between Crowley's surprised outburst of wanting to be loved and his admission that he didn't know where to start confessing...this is what came to mind to go there. Crowley confessing to Sam the reason he sold his soul and what 'love' meant. It's not canon, probably, but I thought it fit in nicely. Enjoy. **

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_"'Girls'? You're my Marnie, Moose. And Hannah...she just...she needs to be loved. She deserves it. Don't we all-you, me-we deserve to be loved. I __**deserve **__to be loved! ...I just want to be loved."_

The already still church fell, if possible, more silent at Crowley's sudden outburst. Crowley's expression was confused and uncharacteristically off-guard while Sam looked on in similar confusion. Sam had asked 'what', but gotten only a mirror reply in return and while he'd waited for a snarky response, none had been forthcoming. Crowley looked genuinely confused and Sam knew that the outburst hadn't been part of a plot or a manipulation, it was a genuine sentiment drug out of his nearly 'cured' soul. "Um...that was..." Sam trailed off, because he had no idea how to respond. This was Crowley, _King of Hell_, and even though humanizing him had been the goal it was still...weird. To say the least. Sam didn't intend to listen to anything the King of Hell had to say, and yet, he'd been lured in by the strange outburst.

Crowley's confused expression became something almost troubled as he frowned and his unfocused eyes narrowed on Sam. "You slipped me something in that blood, didn't you? I always knew you were into psychedelics, just look at that hair. You're more of a hippie than a bloody moose." But the insults were half-hearted at best, and Crowley seemed to slump a little in the telling of them, as if they confirmed his status as a nearly-cured demon.

Sam wasn't amused or insulted, but he was in a strange place since he couldn't bring himself to pity Crowley, bastard that he was, but he couldn't _completely_ hate him outright either. "You're changing, Crowley. Just one more dose and it's over. You move on, Hell's closed forever. Better get used to the idea 'cause you don't have much time."

"Time." Crowley repeated slowly, and he gave a vague chuckle that became a sigh. He moved an arm to run his fingers through his hair, only to be firmly reminded that he was chained to his seat. "Time is something I've had too much of." His voice had gone quiet, and Sam noted that his accent seemed to have changed, his voice wasn't so gruff either. But Sam didn't know what to say to that and he sat back down, prepared to ignore Crowley until the next dose came up.

Crowley had other plans, it seemed.

"I lied."

Sam blinked and glanced at Crowley. "Yeah, you do that a lot...so which lie are we talking about?"

"When I said I sold my sold for a few inches...I lied." Crowley's eyes weren't on Sam, they were at the window and looking at something well beyond what the eye could see.

Sam was still at a loss for how to deal with this...human-esque Crowley and torn between curiosity and apathy. "So then, what'd you sell it for?"

"A woman." Crowley's reply was blunt, guttural, and bittersweet. It was a tone Sam couldn't have imagined hearing from Crowley, and one that should have been hard-pressed to hear from two small words. And that Crowley had sold his soul for a woman was a surprise in itself.

"You sold your soul to make a woman fall in love with you?" Sam sounded incredulous despite himself, and despite the fact that he'd gotten hold of a Hell hound partially thanks to a man doing just that.

Crowley's eyes slid back to Sam at that and he snorted lightly. "Of course not. What kind of prat do you take me for? I sold it to save her life, thinking that she already loved me." he corrected.

Sam's eyebrow rose. "You _what_?"

"You heard me, Moose. I admitted it. The King of Hell sold his soul for a woman like a git. Go on and gloat, I know you're dying to." And then his momentary relapse into snarkiness faded as he added quietly. "Well, no, that wasn't the King of Hell. It was only Fergus Macleod."

Sam didn't know what to say yet again and settled for a question. "What did you save her from?"

"Heart condition. She was a fragile thing. At the time I sold my soul she likely would have only lived a few months more...I couldn't let her die." Crowley murmured the last bit, almost to himself. And then his eyes found Sam's again. "I had told her before that I could cure her, half-thought I could too. Wasn't lying about my mother having been a witch. Didn't make me too popular with the locals but it was enough to win her attention, and later her affection. That's what I thought, anyway."

"So why sell your soul if you could hex it away?"

Crowley shrugged his shoulders slightly. "That's thing, Moose. I couldn't do it, and if I didn't fix her soon, she'd know I was a fraud and I'd lose her even before she died. That's when I remembered the spell for summoning a crossroads demon."

Sam was...surprised, to say the least. "Wow...that's...I wouldn't have guessed."

Crowley was silent a moment and Sam thought he might stop speaking, until he said. "She was with my child at the time, there was that too."

Sam's eyes widened before realization struck him. "Gavin." Memories of the ghost who'd held them find Crowley's bones, or Fergus Macleod's rather, struck him.

"That's the one. She gave birth a few months after I'd saved her. And it was good for awhile, she swore up and down that she loved me, that she would forever for saving her. She'd talk about the wonderful things we would do together, her, Gavin and I. She would have made a damned good demon, cunning little wench." Crowley murmured. "And she was powerful good in bed." he added, in a conversational tone to which Sam's lip curled in disgust. He was _not_ interested in Crowley's sex life. "Never would marry me though, even if it meant Gavin being born a bastard. I should've figured it out, but she was so..._convincing_...she said that she wanted to wait until she was 'pure'. Without sickness or child born in sickness, when she was whole again. I thought it was nonsense but she'd been so..._sincere_...I could deny her nothing."

"You loved her."

Crowley's sigh was tired. "I did. Like a hopeless, bloody fool."

"...And then Gavin was born." Sam guessed what Crowley had subtly implied.

"And then he was born." Crowley agreed. "And barely a month later I woke up to find her gone. Not a note, not a warning, just gone. I found that she'd been engaged, for over a year, to a man from another village, one day destined to be the Head of the village while I was merely a tailor and a witch's son. So far as I could ever figure out, he was wrapped around her finger and the idea of her carrying another man's child was nothing compared to having her life saved. So he married her, and she left me with Gavin. And as for myself, broken-hearted and bitter, I could only see her and her 'betrayal' whenever I looked at Gavin. He was a constant reminder of my greatest folly. I never did love him the way a father should, and he grew up blaming me for the lack of her. Gavin built up fantasies of the woman his mother was, a charming beauty I'd chased away by being a monster and he never forgave me for it. That his mother was a faithless whore could have never crossed his mind." Crowley said plainly.

Sam was shocked. He knew there were tragedies behind soul-selling sometimes, but that Crowley could have such a story under his belt caught him completely by surprise. It was pathetic, and sad, and...so very..._human_. "You hated him for being like her, and he hated you for not being her."

"That's about the size of it, Moose. But it was my fault too, I wasn't heartless enough to abandon the brat just then, but I can't think of an ounce of positive attention I ever paid him. He was nearly ten when the hounds came for me. It was the happiest day of his life, I'm sure. And then I wound up in Hell and...the rest is history."

Sam didn't want to offer sympathy to Crowley of all people, and he wouldn't acknowledge that it was sympathy causing a slight twinge in his heart. "Why are you telling me this?"

Crowley seemed to consider the question a moment before he met Sam's gaze directly. "Because you're here? Because I can. Because I'm pumped full of your sappy blood, Moosey. Take your pick."

Crowley's words made sense now, his outburst, the first human words to be ripped from his awakening heart. Crowley had wanted to be loved, to love, and he'd had his heart crushed. For a demon, Crowley had been especially ruthless, and perhaps the raw material in Crowley's soul when he'd entered Hell had had something to do with that. But then, Dean had suffered tragedy and come out all right, John as well. So then...what was it? What forged a demon anyway?

"I'm sorry." Sam said, and it was directed at Fergus, not Crowley.

Crowley seemed to understand that, and gave a rueful half-smile. "Well, thanks for that."

Silence reigned between them again and Crowley's eyes slid back to the window and to his long ago past.

As for Sam, he digested what he'd just heard and found himself re-evaluating several of his interactions with Crowley. It changed nothing. Crowley was going to die that night, the gates of Hell would be closed, he didn't like or forgive Crowley. But there was some part of him that could feel pity for Fergus Macleod, the man who was surfacing in the demon before him. He had been willing to sacrifice himself for the woman he loved. It wasn't entirely altrusitic, because he'd wanted to be with her, but the sacrifice was still immense and spoke volumes about the man Crowley had once been, long, long ago.

Perhaps there was some justice as well as irony in purifying the soul of the King of Hell.

Sam glanced at his watch and found that it was nearly time for his next dose, but he glanced over at Crowley as he spoke again.

"Would it be possible, Moose...I'd like...to ask you a favor, Sam."

And this time, Sam listened.

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**Mmkay, so it was a little longer than I expected and not quite entirely what I'd intended. And I was dealing with the warring personalities of the fading Crowley and the emerging Fergus. And Sam just doesn't know how to deal with him. Dun dun dun. But here it is! Enjoy! And verbal reviews feed my soul! And might help me write more. XD ~Witchy~  
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